


Threat Level: Children

by lazarusthefirst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cute, De-Aged, Fitzsimmons and Skye are babbies, Fluff, Fuck Canon, Gen, Kidfic, SO MUCH FLUFF, Ward isn't evil, canon-verse, could be a domestic fic if you wanted it to be, mother hen Ward, pre-Turn Turn Turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst/pseuds/lazarusthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons and Skye suffer a mishap that causes them to transform into their five-year-old selves. Ward must handle the situation as best he can while Coulson and May set off in search of the cure. Havoc and playtime ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threat Level: Children

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fish_wifey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/gifts).



> This started off when I tweeted something along the lines of "Ward is like a protective mama bear crouched defensively in front of the lil nerdlings while they do science" and [someone](http://twitter.com/fuckurouDAMN/) responded very enthusiastically. Huge s/o to [fish-wifey](http://fish-wifey.tumblr.com/) for many of the playtime ideas and general enthusiasm, and as always to my stellar beta [Autumn](http://autumnsedai.tumblr.com/), who is billing me for all the dental work she needs to get done after reading this.
> 
> *EDIT* this was posted a day before "Turn Turn Turn." So I suppose this is technically an AU that I will growl about forever.

Agent Grant Ward is a combat and espionage specialist. He can speak six languages and can take down an opponent in approximately 300 different ways, 70 of which are virtually silent. Grant Ward knows his place in SHIELD, and he knows how good he is.

Grant Ward, however, was at a complete loss when Coulson and May barrelled back on to the plane in Lola after their renegade tech genius culprit escaped them again, and when Ward asked where Skye and FitzSimmons were, all Coulson could do was give him a dark look and tell him to look in the back seat.

Ward hadn’t been running point on this mission. He’d been holding down the fort at the plane, recovering from a knock to the head, but he hadn’t been too worried about the entire team being out in the field without him. The tech mastermind they were after was naive and a massive target for agencies like Hydra and Centipede, but he wasn’t actually a threat to the team, really, just so long as they reeled him in first before anyone else did. So when he lifted up the blanket in the back seat and saw three tiny, sleeping children curled up and snoring gently, looking ridiculous in the SHIELD combat gear they’d left in, he wasn’t sure if he should be drawing his weapon or calling a daycare centre.

‘How did this even happen?’ Ward was grumbling, as different junior agents bustled around him, some carting away the medical equipment they’d used to check for signs of trauma in Skye and FitzSimmons, others bringing in what looked like diaper bags filled with assorted kid’s clothes.

May looked annoyed. ‘He had backup. It took me a few seconds to deal with them, and apparently that’s all he needed to minimise the huge threat that these nerds posed.’

“These nerds” were currently clinging to Ward like drowning cats. He’d been the one staring stupidly down at them in the backseat of Lola when they’d all opened their eyes. Since then they’d followed him around like ducklings. Ward wondered if this kind of automatic imprinting was a part of the trick - making your enemies instantly attached to you after you rendered them helpless - or if he just had really bad luck.

May watched, amused, as tiny, worried Skye attempted to hold Ward’s hand. ‘I think they think you’re “dad”,' she remarked. 

‘Coulson should be dad,’ Ward grumbled, allowing Skye to curl her fingers around his hand and lean her head against him, like she was shy.

May shrugged. ‘Coulson’s more of a favourite uncle. He’s not fussy enough to be dad.’

Ward coloured. ‘Does that make you mom?’ he asked, eyeing Fitz and Simmons as they set eyes on all the technical gadgets laid out on the work surfaces, which must look like really shiny toys to their newly five year old eyes.

‘No way,’ May said quickly. ‘You’re maternal enough for the both of us.’ She watched Fitz and Simmons too though, eyes narrowing. ‘Don’t let them near any chemicals,’ she warned, as the two started to venture closer to the work tables. ‘And definitely not the night night gun - no, Fitz, don’t touch!’ She hurried towards them before she’d even finished speaking, thrusting out an arm to stop Simmons and getting a hand to the back of Fitz’s collar. Fitz yelped and cowered in front of May’s sudden appearance, but Simmons got a real fright and, terrifyingly, her eyes started to water.

Skye squeezed Ward’s hand nervously. Ward felt like he was rapidly losing control of the situation.

‘Oh no,’ he said quietly. ‘May, quick, fix her.’

May was looking extremely out of her depth. Her hand was around Fitz’s wrist, and he was looking close to tears now too.

‘I know how to get an adult to stop crying but I don’t think that’s appropriate in this situation!’ she hissed.

‘She’s scary,’ Skye mumbled into Ward’s middle. Ward suppressed a sigh with enormous difficulty.

‘You’re scaring them,’ Ward offered, unhelpfully.

May was actually looking distressed now. ‘That’s what I’m supposed to do,’ she murmured, uncertainly. To her credit she was trying to relax her facial features, and Fitz was just sniffling quietly now, content mostly to hang on to May’s sleeve, but Simmons was a whole other story. She had her fists balled up under her chin protectively, and was making high-pitched whining noises. Ward sensed their doom approaching.

‘You’re good with bombs, right Ward?’ May muttered, as though she was afraid a sudden noise would set Simmons off. ‘This is a bit like that. So how about you step up instead of cowering back there with the good one.’

Ward felt a small bit of stupid pride that Skye was ‘the good one’ in May’s books, even if it was because she was the only one with dry eyes. He looked down at Skye now. She appeared calm, if a bit concerned with the behaviour of FitzSimmons. She blinked up at Ward, and Ward felt a sudden, weird rush of protectiveness for these kids.

’Stay here,’ he told her firmly. Skye didn’t want to let go of his hand, but didn’t protest too much when he moved away from her.

‘Simmons,’ he said cautiously, moving towards her, trying to look as non-threatening as his 6’2 bulk would allow him. She blinked at him, and backed away. It must be disconcerting, Ward thought suddenly, to be a child again in an adult’s world.

‘Jemma,’ he said, and this time she looked at him with more trust. ‘It’s ok Jemma. May just got a fright. She’s not angry at you. Uh, right May?’

May glared at him until he cleared his throat significantly. ‘Right,’ she said bluntly, and Ward winced at her tone, but she attempted a smile at Simmons, who didn’t look at all comforted by it.

‘It’s all right, Jemma,’ Ward said again. Feeling supremely idiotic, he opened his arms. ‘Would you like a hug?’

This was apparently both the right and wrong thing to say. Jemma burst into tears, and Ward nearly tumbled over backwards when she ran at him and just clung, like a limpet to a rock Ward didn’t know what else to do but crouch down to hug the little girl properly, feeling very confused and disconcerted because just minutes ago she’d been a twenty six year old woman. Ward definitely wasn’t getting paid enough for this.

* * *

 

Somehow May convinced Coulson that she’d be far more use to the situation in the field with him tracking down the man they were after in the first place, who had turned Skye and Fitzsimmons into toddlers to stop them disabling his hardwear.

‘I scare them,’ she explained, as Ward seethed.

‘Fine,’ agreed Coulson, looking aggravated. ‘Ward, make sure they don’t hurt themselves.’

‘Sir,’ Ward protested. ‘Surely a more feminine touch - ’

‘Don’t you dare suggest what I think you’re about to suggest, Ward,’ May said dangerously, holding up her finger.

Ward glared at her, but decided it would be safer not to continue that sentence.

‘Ward, they obviously trust you the most,’ Coulson said tiredly. He indicated FitzSimmons, who were sitting at Ward’s feet, each clinging to a leg, and then to Skye, who was sitting on a workbench holding on firmly to Ward’s hand. ‘We don’t have time to argue this, Ward. I need my team back.’

‘You’ve got drool on your pants,’ May tossed over her retreating shoulder. Ward’s shoulders sagged.

‘’M hungry,’ Sky complained, rubbing her eyes. Her words set off a chorus of pitiful complaints from the other too, who were indeed starving, apparently.

‘Sandwiches!’ Ward announced desperately, and he waddled off towards the kitchen as best he could when FitzSimmons wouldn’t detach themselves from his legs.

‘This would be a lot easier if you’d walk there ahead of me,’ Ward explained, as kindly as he could. Skye waited at the door, hopping impatiently from foot to foot, tugging at her long hair, an obvious annoyance to her.

Fitzsimmons looked up at him like they couldn’t imagine ever walking by themselves. Ward sighed and made another concentrated effort to separate the competent scientists he knew from these big-eyed precocious children who were in dire need of a tissue or several.

This is an assignment, Ward thought firmly. Assess the situation, evaluate what needs to be dealt with first, and act accordingly. Basic training. In one swift movement he bent down and scooped up first Fitz and then Simmons - or Leo and Jemma, he supposed - until he had one surprised child on each hip.

Skye was looking pleased. ‘Come on, come on!’ she encouraged, now that Ward was visibly more mobile. She gambolled over to pull on his elbow, and together they all made it to the kitchen without crying. Ward set all three children up at the table, assuring them that food was imminent. He acquired tissues, and fixed each respective leakage - he thanked all the gods that existed or might exist that they hadn’t been de-aged to the point of needing diapers - and left the box within reach, hoping that they might take it upon themselves to sort out any further nose-related situations that might occur.

He dived for the hand sanitiser while the kids chattered happily amongst themselves.

‘I want peanut butter.’

‘Ewwww.’

‘No _I_ want it Jem _ma_ ,’ Fitz insisted.

‘Peanuts grow on trees,’ Simmons said, sounding pleased.

‘Fitz eats trees,’ giggled Skye.

‘Do not,’ said Fitz, sounding annoyed, but not worryingly so.

‘What do trees taste like?’ asked Skye, interested.

‘Like peanuts,’ Fitz replied sternly.

Ward felt it was time to intervene. ‘Fitz can have peanut butter,’ he said turning around. ‘What do -‘

‘And jelly,’ added Fitz quickly.

Ward blinked. ‘Ok, and jelly. So -‘

‘And butter,’ Fitz insisted.

‘And - ok, and butter.’

‘And … and chocolate!’ Fitz said, eyes lighting up. Skye had her hands pressed to her mouth to hold back giggles. Ward pursed his lips, realising that he was being played.

‘And …. sausages!’ said Fitz triumphantly, and Jemma and Skye burst into fits of laughter. ‘Chocolate and sausages!’ they cheered, and Fitz looked very pleased with himself. Ward felt several grey hairs sprout from his head.

Finally all the sandwich orders were taken and the silly sorted from the sensible. Putting food in their mouths was apparently the only way to shut them up. The kids munched their sandwiches and Ward nursed a cup of coffee on the far side of the kitchen and hoped they wouldn’t notice him for a while.

May will never believe this, he thought, a trace of his good humour creeping back in as he watched Skye nibble as much white off her bread as possible before lining up the crusts on one side, to be eaten later it seemed. Finally finding a use for his actual training, he managed to get out his phone and take a few quick photos of each of them without any child noticing and causing an uproar. Ward sent a photo to May and Coulson each, and then as an after thought he then sent them to his secure email address so that they could be used for blackmail at a later date. He was reasonably sure that it would take Fitz at least a few minutes to hack into it - time enough for the photos to have winged their way to a few dozen of their Academy friends.

* * *

 

After sandwiches, the kids had quite a few ideas on what they should do next.

‘Science!’ cheered FitzSimmons, when Ward asked them tentatively what they liked to do best.

Ward’s heart sank. ‘Even at five?’ he queried, bemused. He’d been hoping he could stick them in front of some kid’s show. He didn’t know any kids shows, but he was sure that Nickelodeon still existed.

He wasn’t the only one that looked put out. Skye folded her arms and pouted. ‘I dun wanna do science,’ she grumbled. Ward sensed a mutiny.

‘How about we go into the lab and see what’s safe to play with,’ he said cautiously. That suggestion was mostly well-received. Jemma grabbed on to the hem of Ward’s shirt, and took Fitz’s hand in hers. Skye saw the potential for a game, and before he knew it, Ward was leading a conga-line of small children all yelling ‘Choo choo!’ He remembered that he’d initially wanted May to stay and help him with the kids; the relief he felt that she hadn’t was almost overwhelming.

Inside the lab, Ward was able to quickly cordon off a section using mostly stools and tables, so that the kids had a workbench to themselves and a drawer full of basic equipment. Luckily they weren’t so interested in chemicals as they were in the large tray full of soil and the watering can in the corner. Ward didn’t know what experiment Jemma had been planning, but FitzSimmons were more than happy to turn it into a mud pie-baking contest.

Skye helped for a while, but seemed to dislike getting her hands dirty. Ward acquired lab coats for them all, which were comically big even when he rolled the sleeves up four or five times. The kids found this hilarious, so he got them some of Fitz’s special lab goggles too and watched them bumble around bumping into each other and giggling as their eyes magnified crazily.

He noticed Skye admiring the little garden that Jemma had been cultivating in the corner. He suspected her interest in botany probably had something to do with a potentially deadly chemical they could produce or something, but after close examination he discovered them to simply be overly-large daisies.

‘They’re probably genetically modified,’ he explained to Skye, who blinked at him.

‘Science made them bigger,’ he amended carefully. Skye nodded, and reached for the first pot, which contained dozens of daisies. Ward wasn’t sure if he should let her play with them, but before he could make a decision, Skye had already plucked six or seven daises out of the soil. Ward glanced quickly over his shoulder, but Jemma was happily crumbling mud into Fitz’s hair and hadn’t noticed the plant destruction that was occurring.

When he looked back he saw that Skye had deftly braided the daisies into a chain by making a little slit in each stem with her tiny nails.

‘Look,’ she said, presenting the chain to Ward. ‘Daisy chains.’

‘I see,’ he said, looking at his gift. ‘Who taught you how to make these?’

Skye shrugged. ‘Let’s make more,’ she said, and that was how Ward found himself cross legged on the floor in the lab helping Skye to make a daisy chain. He wasn’t very good at the actual braiding - his nails were too blunt - but Skye, who quickly registered this fact, designated him the role of sitting very still as she passed each completed section into his hands so they wouldn’t tangle.

FitzSimmons came over to help once they’d grown tired of mud pies. There was only a brief cry of distress when Jemma saw her garden. Ward quickly suggested that they make something new out of the flowers.

‘Like what?’ wailed Jemma.

‘Crowns!’ said Skye, as though it was obvious.

Fitz had already settled down to making his own chain, nimble fingers making something that looked a lot more complicated than Skye’s original design. Ward had been wondering just how much of his team’s acquired knowledge had been retained when they were de-aged. It was hard to tell, as he watched them play, whether they were drawing on things they’d actually experienced in their lives but just didn’t remember, or if they had all been this naturally gifted as children. Ward remembered his own childhood, and he certainly wouldn’t have been able to make the intricate, and frankly quite pretty, flower crown that Fitz had constructed and was now laying solemnly on Jemma’s head, who accepted it regally.

He felt a tiny tickle around his ears, and resisted the urge to react as he normally would, which would probably scare the children into hysterics. Skye was placing a crown gently on to Ward’s head. He noticed that there was a lot more greenery woven into his; Skye had been sneakily stealing from some of the bigger plants. Ward fervently hoped that there was nothing in his crown that could potentially poison him.

‘We’re all princesses!’ cheered Jemma.

‘And princes,’ Fitz added quickly, looking at Ward, who nodded at him.

‘Ward’s not a prince,’ Skye said suddenly. ‘Ward is a wizard.’

‘Yeah, Ward can do magic!’ agreed Fitz, as though this was common knowledge. This proclamation involved lots of parading around in one of the supply rooms, which had a full length mirror in it for trying on new gear. Each of the children spent a good five minutes each preening over his or her flower crown, while Ward stood by the door, staring in quiet horror at his own reflection. Daisies, he decided, were not the most attractive flower.

But the kid were riotously happy, he noted, as they capered around the room like little monkeys, pulling down spare gear to use as capes and cloaks. For a while, they were content to play without him, allowing him to sink down to the floor to recover from the swift drop in his energy levels. He did manage to take a few more wonderful pictures of them, including one of Fitz pretending to brush Skye’s hair, and one of Jemma and Skye tying flowers into Fitz’s golden curls.

The novelty of the flower crowns didn’t last as long as Ward had hoped they would. The kids began to pester him for some new form of entertainment, and Ward was stumped.

‘Do you have a gun?’ Fitz asked interestedly.

‘What?’ Ward’s hand flew to his holster, even though he knew he’d left his gun hidden securely in his room before May and Coulson had gone. But the damage had been done.

‘Can you show us?’

‘Can we see it?’

‘ _Please_?’

‘No,’ said Ward sternly, but immediately backed down as the three upturned faces wilted.

‘But we can do, uh, other stuff,’ he tried. ‘I can teach you how to fight?’

The kids brightened immediately. Fitz looked thrilled; he and Skye ran out of the room, shouting and shrieking that they were gonna race each other to the punching bag.

‘You coming, Jemma?’ Ward asked, watching Jemma carefully.

‘Ok,’ she said slowly. ‘But … no hurting, right?’ She looked a little worried, and Ward frowned.

‘Hey,’ he said, crouching down. ‘No hurting. I promise. I’m gonna show you how to defend yourself, ok?’

Jemma nodded. ‘Ok,’ she agreed.

Ward automatically held out his hand, and she took it. He was amazed at how small and warm her little hand was, and how she was trusting this huge individual to keep her safe. Usually the people he protected didn’t want his help, or were faced with such great obstacles that Ward felt more than daunted when tasked with their safety. Jemma wasn’t worried about any of that, but her own small concerns and worries suddenly seemed far more important to Ward than anything else he’d had to deal with for SHIELD. Which was worrying. Ward wondered if he should order himself a psych evaluation.

Ward set them up with wrappings for their hands because he was one hundred per cent sure that kids weren’t really supposed to be punching things. He wasn’t sure if any damage their did to their bone growth while they were de-aged would affect them once they were their normal selves again, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Fitz and Skye went to town on the punching bags. Ward showed them how to keep their fingers tucked and how to keep their guard up. Skye was quite good at it, and Ward watched somewhat proudly as he saw that she hadn’t totally forgotten their lessons.

Jemma was less enthusiastic but she loved the technical side of it. When Ward was wrapping her hands she rattled off all the different bones of the hand that he was protecting, and told him why it was so important to protect those bones, and then she told him which of the bones in his face was most likely to get broken based on the different kind of punches. She fell a bit short there, until Ward, somewhat hesitantly, offered to show her the different kinds of punches so that she could complete her strange analysis.

‘Write it down!’ Fitz reminded her, from where he was wrestling with Skye (she pinned him easily, nine times out of ten).

‘I _know_ ,’ Jemma yelled back, running into the lab to get a clipboard.

Meanwhile, Ward was compiling his own research inside his head. He was certain that no matter how gifted, Jemma probably hadn’t known every single bone of the hand and face at age five. Or, he was fairly certain anyways. But Skye definitely hadn’t known how to fight like that. He watched her deftly trip Fitz so he’d fall but not too badly, a defensive move mostly used for subduing someone you had to defend but was intent on getting into trouble anyways. He’d shown her that move only two or three weeks ago. Maybe the effects of the de-aging were only temporary. But he was yet to see any change in their physical appearance. Ward almost felt like he should be writing this down, too.

Incredibly, the kids still weren’t showing any signs of the tiredness Ward expected from children. He, however, was feeling the urge to call Coulson and talk about the signs of maturity - or at least intelligence - he was seeing from them. FitzSimmons being as smart as they were, though, he didn’t want them to overhear and get any ideas that there was something wrong with them.

‘Fitz,’ he called, thoughtful. ‘Did you ever play soccer?’

Fitz wrinkled his nose. ‘You mean football?’

‘We play football!’ exclaimed Jemma, dashing back out with her pen and paper. She dropped to her knees beside where Ward was sitting and began to write in a careful, painstakingly neat print. Ward raised his eyebrows as he looked over her shoulder and saw words that were at least eight or ten letters long. Definitely not normal five-year-old behaviour. Skye leaned on his shoulder and they watched Jemma together. Fitz flopped down in the middle of the training area, calling weakly for a rematch.

‘I won the fight,’ Skye whispered quietly in his ear, like she was telling him a secret. Ward twisted and looked at her mischievous little face. He’d often thought of her as a kid sister, and it wasn’t hard to feel as proud and protective of her now as he had his own little brother.

‘You did,’ agreed Ward. ‘You were very good.’

‘Yeah. I wanna play soccer.’

‘You do?’

Skye nodded, eager.

So they played soccer. It started off all four of them battling it out for a battered old soccer ball Ward knew had been lurking around in the training closet. Ward volunteered to be in both goals so the kids could go wild in the centre without Ward having to worry about any broken noses and floods of tears. Skye and Ward weren’t exactly clear on the rules, apart from knowing that the ball had to go into the net and that was a goal (the nets were marked by discarded lab coats and flower crowns), which was fine, since Fitz and Jemma were more than happy to yell out instructions as they played.

‘If you kick the ball with the side of your foot, instead of your toes, the ball will go more straight,’ Jemma explained kindly to Skye, kneeling down to press at the different parts of her foot. Fitz took advantage of the distraction to steal the ball and score five times, Ward failing to save every one because the grin on Fitz’s face was priceless.

‘I’m winning,’ he announced to the girls. He thrust his skinny arms into the air in triumph, golden curls thoroughly tousled.

‘I’m on your team, silly,’ said Jemma. ‘Team England.’

Fitz frowned. ‘Team Great Britain,’ he corrected her.

Skye huffed. ‘Who’s team am I on?’ she demanded.

‘You’re on my team, Skye,’ Ward said quickly. ‘Team USA.’

FitzSimmons whined about this, but Ward reminded them that he and Skye didn’t actually know how to play, so FitzSimmons had a huge advantage, and this seemed to appease everyone.

The two scientists couldn’t be distracted for long, however. Jemma and Fitz were soon absorbed in looking over the apparently fascinating notes Jemma had made. Skye and Ward took turns kicking the ball at the goals while the other tried to save it. Ward hadn’t gone easy on anyone in years - since he was a kid, probably - but now he found himself barely touching the ball with his foot, so afraid was he of hurting Skye.

‘You suck,’ giggled Skye, when her shot flew past Ward and hit the back wall. ‘Goal!’ she cheered, running around wildly and pulling her shirt over the front of her head, exposing her pink kid’s vest tucked into her little trousers. Ward shook his head in wonder, and then suddenly realised that Skye had never had any of this. She’d experienced the worst kind of foster care, never staying in one place long enough to develop sibling or parental bonds. It occurred to him that what he was seeing was probably something like what Skye would have been like if she’d grown up in a stable home.

But then he thought about his own research, and realised that if what he suspected was correct, and the kids were operating based on conditions that they had already cultivated in their own adult lives. So, Skye’s new childlike behaviour was influenced primarily by her relationship with the team. Maybe, he thought, watching her tackle Fitz and listening to their combative shrieks, Skye’s bond with her new family was so strong that it was eclipsing her real childhood with these better memories. The thought was encouraging, if only he could prove it.

‘ _Get Ward!_ ’

Skye’s battle cry gave him little to no warning. He reacted so slowly that his own S.O. would have hung his head in shame. The kids barrelled into him like a pack of rambunctious puppies, bony elbow and knees finding their targets, laughter and yells of delight filling his ears until all he could do was pretend to collapse under their might.

‘No, help,’ he protested, forgetting even to be embarrassed at himself. ‘You’re too strong, you’re too strong, nooooo.’

The kids, delighted by his encouragement, poked and prodded him until he finally reacted, jumping up and pouncing on them. They shrieked and ran away, but not so far that Ward couldn’t catch them and tickle them into submission. Ward couldn’t ever remembering tickling someone before, not even his kid brother, but the kids went crazy for it, jumping on him so he could do it again, even though they squirmed and yelled to be let go whenever he “caught” them. It was bizarre behaviour. Ward had never seen anything actively seek out such punishment like it was the greatest thing in the world, and then act like it was terrible and demand to be set free, only to do the whole thing over again.

Eventually Ward fell backwards on to the training mats, pretending to be defeated at last. The kids jumped on top of him but then began to settle down. Ward hadn’t done half their exercise but he was more than a little worn out. He watched in quiet amazement as they began to positively snuggle up next to him. He wished suddenly that he’d chosen a more comfortable position to collapse in, because it looked like the kids were settling down for a nap.

They could do with a nap, he thought idly. Though in their beds would have been better. He remembered that he’d wanted to call Coulson, but right now Skye’s clouds of soft hair were tickling his nose and Jemma was curled up like a mouse on his chest and even Fitz had consented to snuggling up to his left, skinny arms curling around one of Ward’s biceps. There was no way Ward was moving for the foreseeable future. The word ‘nap’ was floating through his head, and even though he knew he was a grown man, and a trained killer, who had no need for naps, the idea was now strangely appealing to Ward. After all, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

* * *

 

Ward’s cellphone buzzed in his pocket, jerking him rudely out of what was definitely not a contented sleep. The noise and sudden movement jostled the kids, who began to whine sleepily.

’Ssh,’ Ward said, urgently. ‘It’s ok, don’t wake up, don’t wake up.’ He manoeuvred his arm around Skye’s tiny sleeping form to his pocket. He clicked the com button and heard his earpiece crackle to life.

‘Ward?’

‘I’m here,’ he replied, quietly. Coulson sounded a bit distant, and he gathered he was on speaker.‘Any luck?’

‘We’ve got a lead in Manilla,’ Coulson said briskly. ’This guy probably figured we’d want him to fix Skye and FitzSimmons so he took off. We did find the original device, but the tech guys say it’ll take an entirely different device to reverse the changes.’

Ward nodded, lifting his head up slightly to make sure the children were still mostly asleep. ‘You coming back to the plane?’

‘No, we’re chartering our own. No need to bring them near anything dangerous at this point, especially when it might be a false lead,’ replied Coulson. ‘How are they?’

Ward raised an eyebrow. ‘They’re fine,’ he said. ‘They’re sleeping now.’

‘Did you sing them a lullaby?’ May’s voice sounded vaguely amused.

‘No, I couldn’t remember any of your favourites,’ replied Ward dryly.

’We’ll check in when we land,’ Coulson said, in his usual brief manner. ‘Call us if there’s any developments.’

The call disconnected, and Ward thought about that. Had there been any developments? As far as he could tell, the only concrete change was that he apparently enjoyed evening naps now. His stomach rumbled, and he figured that the first thing the kids would do when they woke up was ask for something to eat.

Not wanting to be up all night with wired children, he gently started to shake them all awake.

‘Nooo,’ whined Skye, shaking her head of hair in Ward’s face. ‘Go ‘way.’

‘I thought you guys might be hungry,’ Ward suggested.

There was a beat, and then three pale, grubby faces were looking up at him expectantly.

‘Is there food?’ Jemma asked expectantly.

‘There could be,’ said Ward. ‘You guys wanna get up now so I can make you some dinner?’

Nods all around. They slid off him sleepily, yawning and rubbing their faces. Ward realised that they’d probably be more comfortable if they were cleaner, so he sent them off to Skye’s room where the spare kid clothes the agent had dropped off were sitting in bags.

‘What shall we wear?’ asked Jemma, as Ward shepherded them back into the body of the plane.

‘Uh, surprise me,’ Ward said. The kid’s faces lit up, and they dashed off to Skye’s room, almost creating a bottleneck jam at the door. Ward rolled his eyes and then wondered what on earth to make children for dinner.

Ward figured they wouldn’t appreciate salad. But he didn’t want to just heat up some frozen pizza for them. He shuddered. So many empty calories. Skye’s diet was awful, and FitzSimmons weren’t all that better. He and May had eaten penne a lá vodka last night, but that was a definite no for obvious reasons. He didn’t think they’d have the patience to wait for lasagne or anything that required 45 minutes in the oven. Pasta. Pasta was always a good choice. They had ragu, too. Ten minutes later he was apron’d with his sleeves rolled up, adding herbs to the mince and enjoying the smell of a healthy, wholesome meal being prepared.

The kids chose that moment to stomp back into the kitchen, kitted out in a bizarre array of standard children’s clothes but arranged in a way so far from what God intended.

’Mmm, that smell’s good!’ said Skye happily, rubbing her red football jersey-clad tummy. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s spaghetti bolognese,’ Jemma said, standing up on tip toes in fluffy bunny slippers to peer into the pot. ‘Can I help?’

‘I’m so hungry,’ Fitz moaned, shoulders slumped comically in his soft yellow knit cardigan with embroidered flowers on the pockets. He was also wearing football shorts and comically large football socks pulled up as far as they could go - they looked like they matched Skye’s jersey.

‘My hands are dirty,’ complained Jemma, pushing up the sleeves of her soft pink dressing gown to get a look at the mud stains on her arms. She tugged at his apron. ‘Waaaard,’ she whined, dragging it out so that her accent made it sound like ‘Word.’

Ward turned the bolognese down low and put the lid on it carefully, before herding them over to the sink and getting them to roll up their sleeves and apply generous amounts of soap to their dirty hands and faces. Ward noticed there was a fair amount of dirt in their hair too, probably soil from the flower crowns and FitzSimmons’s mud pies, but there was no way he was bathing them. There were some things a friendship just couldn’t recover from. Nor would he trust them to shower themselves. He’d heard that kids could drown in six inches of water. He wasn’t taking any chances with them.

‘You’ll need bibs or something,’ Ward noted, frowning at their clean clothes and wondering about the potential splash ratio of the pasta sauce.

‘I won’t make a mess,’ huffed Jemma, insulted. ‘I’m not a _baby_.’

Ward smiled. ‘I know you’re not,’ he agreed. ‘But I want to protect your nice new clothes from the sauce, ok?’ He cast his eyes around for napkins of some sort, when he suddenly remembered the lab coats. He sent the kids off to get them, who were very amused at the thought of wearing science things for something as mundane as _dinner_.

Skye and Fitz reappeared just as Ward was putting on the spaghetti.

‘Where’s Jemma?’ he asked, frowning at them as they sat down at the table behind Ward.

‘She’s coming,’ said Fitz airily, waving his hand. ‘She’s still lookin’.’

Jemma suddenly reappeared wearing her coat, sleeves trailing, and carrying another carefully across her arms. Skye and Fitz were smirking now, excited about something. Ward suppressed a smile, and acted oblivious.

‘What have you got there, Jemma?’ he asked innocently.

Jemma looked like she was going to burst from laughter. ‘It’s your coat,’ she forced out, mirth bubbling in her voice. Ward smiled indulgently as the other two clapped their hands to their mouths, obviously in on the joke.

‘Alright,’ he said easily. ‘Can I see it?’

Jemma held it out for him eagerly. ‘Put it on,’ she said. Ward obliged them, untying his apron.

Appropriately clad, he stood up straight, and immediately got the joke as the children burst out laughing, almost falling off their stools as they pointed to Ward’s chest. He looked down and saw that he now had a makeshift badge of paper and safety pins attached to his chest. He squinted to read Jemma’s neat handwriting upside down.

‘“Agent Grumpy Wizard”,’ he read aloud. ‘“Junior Science Assistant”. Wow, guys. I’m touched.’

‘You - you - cos you’re only a ‘ssisstant,’ Jemma gasped, breathless with laughter, stumbling over to him. She wrapped her arms unexpectedly around Ward’s middle again, and Ward was struck with the difference in Jemma now, how she’d clung to him earlier, so frightened. He patted her head and rolled his eyes at the other two.

‘Very funny guys,’ he grinned. ‘You got me.’ Fitz was red in the face from laughing.

Once he’d settled them all down to eating, Ward was able to pour out his own portion and sit at the head of the table in his lab coat and eat with them. The kids were full of chatter, and spent more time kneeling up in their seats to make a point than they did actually eating. Fitz was on his left and Jemma on his right, with Skye holding court at the top of the table.

‘Did you know that ‘lectricity can be made from almost anything?’ Fitz said knowledgeably, as he twined a string of spaghetti around his fork. ‘It can come from animals and plants and wind and the sun and all sorts.’

‘Really,’ said Ward. ‘Another spoonful please, Fitz.’

‘Kay,’ Fitz said easily. ‘This is a fork, though.’

‘Did you know that people shed, just like aminals,’ said Jemma quietly, on his other side. ‘Sixty - uh, sixty …’ She paused, setting down her fork, to count on her fingers, twice, until she had the right number. ‘Six hunner’ thousand particles of skin, every hour.’ She looked proud that she’d remembered the right number.

Ward blinked at her.

‘No, I did not know that,’ he said, gently guiding her suspended fork towards her mouth, as she was quickly becoming distracted by a tiny speck of dust on the table. ‘Eat, please.’

Ward looked down at Skye, expecting a similar tidbit from her. She had her fork in her mouth, cheeks bulging with food. She caught his eye, shrugged, and swallowed what had to be an incredible mouthful of food. Ward gave her a thumbs up.

Fitzsimmons were talking across him about animals now. Ward caught ‘birds’ and ‘bees,’ and he suddenly had an alarming thought about his earlier hypothesis concerning how much exactly could the kids remember from their adult lives.

‘What are you guys talking about?’ he asked, trying to sound casual. FitzSimmons turned their faces up to him.

‘Jemma thinks birds are best,’ Fitz explained. ‘I think bees. Bees can sting. And make honey.’

‘Birds can fly much better though,’ argued Jemma. ‘They’ve got cooler wings. Like the Falcon!’

Ward sighed, relieved. Safe then.

Fitz was looking a little worried now. ‘Do you want me to tell you more about bees?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Do you know - do you understand?’ He seemed to be getting frustrated. ‘Is it too difficult?’

Ward didn’t know what Fitz was getting at, but the kid was getting a little worked up now, and he knew he had to move fast to diffuse the situation.

‘Hey,’ he said gently, setting down his fork. ‘I don’t know everything about bees that you do. You’re very clever, Fi - Leo.’ Fitz still looked concerned, and Ward thought he knew now what was up. He ruffled Fitz’s hair gently and said quietly, so that only he could hear, ‘I know when you’re better at things than I am. I don’t feel bad. You’re much cooler than I am, anyways.’

Fitz brightened and was suddenly all smiles again. Ward shook his head, amused. He’d been wondering whether Fitz was getting confused by how much he knew, and if it might be possible that some of his old (or new?) memories might be starting to interfere with his youthful brain. But these were just childish insecurities. Ward hadn’t known that Fitz had been insecure about his intelligence as a child. He thought back to how strongly Fitz had stood up for the highschool dropouts at the SHIELD academy, and felt a little proud of the little nerd now happily eating his spaghetti.

There was more experimentation after dinner. FitzSimmons made Ward wear the special magnified lab glasses and got a great kick out of him pretending to stumble around bumping into things. He told them all about the bombs that he was able to create and diffuse, the kids hanging on his every word like he had at five years old when his mom read him Little Red Riding Hood. Ward had a brief moment of doubt when he began telling them an explosion-themed anecdote from one of his missions - surely a story with that much violence wasn’t good for children - but he couldn’t refuse their eager faces. He just hoped it wouldn’t scar them for life, whatever that expression meant for them. They were very smart children though, he reasoned.

Ward turned on the holo-table (with gentle instructions from Fitz) and lifted them each up in turn so they could see the holographic models of the bombs he was talking about. FitzSimmons cooed over the different electrical and chemical components that Ward showed them, to the point where they were almost finishing his sentences as he explained how they worked.

Skye seemed to enjoy the stories too, but Ward could tell they were a little lost on her.

‘But when does it go boom?’ she asked, confused, as Ward lifted her up to show her the holographic bomb. Ward explained about wires and triggers but it was clearly all going over her head. ‘Where’s the red button?’ she asked, blinking up at Ward, who remembered belatedly that just because Skye was as big a nerd as FitzSimmons, didn’t necessarily mean she’d had the same education as they had.

So he told them all to be quiet and not touch anything, and then he went into the part of the lab that he’d cordoned off. He spent about twenty minutes telling the kids to hush and be patient while he cobbled together a battery, an electric charge, some wires, a fuse, and an extra special ingredient. Then he made a rough trigger and attached it to a spring and a round red tupperwear lid on which he wrote “Boom!” in black marker, and turned around slowly, holding his creations.

The makeshift button he handed to Skye, who looked honoured. Then he unrolled the length of wire across the floor and placed the “bomb” as far away from the kids as possible. He made them all wear goggles and helmets and earmuffs and crouched down with Fitzsimmons behind him and Skye wrapped protectively in his arms. She clutched the trigger excitedly.

‘Ready?’ he asked her. She nodded, too excited to speak.

‘Ok.’ He looked around at the other two. ‘You guys ready?’ They nodded excitedly, giving him enthusiastic thumbs up.

Ward nodded. ‘Ok then. Can you do a countdown?’

He didn’t need to ask them twice.

‘Three … two … one …’

‘Boom,’ whispered Skye, and mashed the button with her fist.

There was a swift zip, and a bright flash, and then a very loud boom that made all three (four) of them jump. And suddenly it was raining daisies. The trigger had propelled the box of leftover flower crowns into the air, the heat igniting the protective casing but not the daisies themselves, which now rained down on the jubilant children and Ward.

FitzSimmons danced and threw flowers at each other and Skye was positively quivering with excitement. She threw her arms around Ward and whispered, ‘You’re a real wizard!’ and Ward felt a very stupid tug on his heart.

‘Can I see the bomb?’ asked Fitz excitedly, helmet slipping down and pushing his goggles even further down his nose.

‘Wait until it’s cooled off,’ Ward said. ‘I’ll put it up on the workbench.’

Once he’d safely removed anything that might ignite from his little bomb, he showed FitzSimmons and Skye exactly how he’d made the “boom” and where he’d put the flowers. There was much oohing and ahhing, and Ward was feeling very pleased with himself until suddenly Fitz asked ‘But what did you use for the exothermic reaction?’ and then paused, as though he didn’t know what he’d asked.

‘The what?’ asked Skye, wrinkling her nose. ‘What are you _talkin_ ‘bout, Fitzy?’

‘I … I dunno,’ Fitz said, a little uncertainly.

‘I think I do,’ Jemma said slowly. ‘But I … don’t. Ward?’ She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to provide the answer.

‘Why do I know that?’ Fitz asked, in a very small voice, looking uncertainly at the bomb.

Ward was feeling a little unsure, and didn’t quite know how to respond to them. He felt a bit like how he imagined parents felt when their kids asked them where do babies come from, except now his kids were asking him where they came from.

‘I feel like I’m a grown-up,’ whispered Skye.

Ward looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean, Skye?’ he asked carefully.

The light was coming on in Fitz and Jemma’s eyes too, but Skye didn’t seem to know what she meant. She rubbed her head and whimpered about her tummy hurting. Ward recognised defeat when he saw it.

‘I wanna do science,’ Jemma said suddenly, hopping off her stool. Fitz scrambled down after her.

‘Maybe not now, guys,’ Ward said hastily, as Skye climbed off her chair and into his lap. ‘We’ve had lots of playtime today.’

Jemma made a face at him, and Ward was struck by how very much she looked like present-day Jemma.

‘It’s not _playing_ , silly,’ she said, as though he were an idiot. ‘It’s science.’

Fitz nodded the affirmative. ‘Science,’ he agreed, pushing a chair up to the holo-table and pressing buttons.

And for once, Ward left them to it. After all, FitzSimmons - at least, present-day FitzSimmons - knew what they were about. If their memories were starting to interfere with their juvenile minds, it was probably best to let them work it out in whatever way seemed most appropriate to them. For FitzSimmons, that was done by using science. If he knew them, they’d probably have the whole thing figured out by the time Coulson and May got back.

Skye, however, was running her hands through her long, tangled hair, complaining about the knots and grumbling in general. Ward took her hands away from her hair, because she was making a mess of it.

‘Stop,’ he said sternly. He started separately out different portions of her hair, hoping to minimise the damage and find a brush later.

‘Will you do pigtails?’ Skye yawned, settling back against Ward.

Ward blinked, not sure what she meant.

‘Um, pigtails?’

Skye nodded. ‘Yeah, like the other girls used to have.’ She must have meant the other girls in foster care. Ward squinted at the mass of soft hair before him. He’d honestly seen bombs that looked easier to diffuse. But perhaps braids would help keep it under better control.

‘Alright, I’ll try,’ he hedged, wondering what kind of rope knot formula he could apply to make this work.

‘You’re a wizard, you can do it,’ Skye encouraged him, sounding sleepy now.

Ward had to agree that he did have reputation to live up to. So while FitzSimmons chattered away and scribbled down notes in childish handwriting on the inside pages of books and journals and whatever other paper they could get their hands on, Ward carefully, but with growing confidence as the pattern started to look familiar, braided Skye’s hair into two, slightly messy, but secure, braids that hung down her back. There was still a fair amount of dry soil to be picked off her scalp, but Ward figured neither of them needed the hassle right now.

* * *

 

Kids are chaos, Ward thought to himself later.

After a long and argumentative teeth-brushing session and fights about who got to wear the Captain American pyjamas to bed (Skye won by a landslide) he finally got all the kids settled in their respective beds. They were all so sleepy that they barely put up any kind of fight when it came to actually getting into bed, though there was some debate over just how much each door should be left open, allowing the safety of the light in the hallway to be glimpsed. Ward spent about ten minutes walking back and forth between the rooms because somehow each child’s original estimate on just how much external light would be necessary for comfort had been wrong, and now they needed the door open just a little wider, or just an inch more closed. By the time they were all finally settled, Ward was ready to drop.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he got back to the main body of the plane.

‘Sir?’

‘Ward. Everything ok?’

‘Everything’s fine, sir. They’re all asleep now.’

‘Good. We’ve landed in Manilla. Sources on the ground say we’re on the right track. Should have this guy in a couple of hours. Depending on how close he keeps the de-ageing reversal device, we should be back to you by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be able to give you a better estimate in the morning.’

‘Right,’ said Ward, relieved. 'Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘I think they’re starting to figure it out. FitzSimmons … well, you know how they are. I’m not sure how much of what they say are memories, and how much are just them being gifted children, but I think their minds might be starting to catch up.’

‘Ok. Isn’t that good?’

Ward shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not really, sir. Their bodies aren’t catching up. They haven’t changed visibly at all, not one bit. I don’t want our friends to be trapped in their five-year-old bodies but fully aware of that fact as adults. Given the size of their bodies, probably hormone levels, and the actual age their minds are, it could have all sorts of negative affects on their mental statuses.’

Coulson sounded troubled. ‘That is a problem,’ he agreed. ‘But one we’ll soon be able to fix if all goes according to plan.’ He paused. ‘How are you?’

Ward blinked. ‘Me? Sir, I’m …’ He hesitated. ‘I’m just tired, sir. They’re a handful. But it’s been an interesting experience, sir.’

‘Good,’ said Coulson, sounding amused.

‘Can’t wait to hear all about it,’ came May’s voice from the background.

‘Oh, there’s plenty to tell,’ Ward said, glancing back over his shoulder.

After they hung up, Ward was faced with the undeniable fact that the Bus was trashed. Evidence of kid habitation was everywhere. There was spaghetti on the walls. What looked like every single spare piece of clothing they owned had been used in their game of princesses (and princes). The lab was a bomb site, literally. Soil and flowers littered the ground, and there were scorch marks on the floor.

Kids were absolutely chaotic, Ward thought again, as he began the process of cleaning up, slightly dazed at the new messes he came across as he went. Ward had never dealt with this kind of natural chaos before, in a neutral environment. Always his target had been identifiable, a kind of chaos that could be understood and conquered if not controlled. Chaos could never be controlled, but Ward had had to do just that today. He felt oddly accomplished, like he’d surpassed some kind of test. He stopped every now and then, standing up straight to listen out for any kinds of distress from down the hallway.

Eventually he made it to his own bed. Ward was trained to sleep under any conditions, so even though he preferred the dark, he didn’t mind sleeping with his own door ajar.

What he didn’t anticipate, however, was how he couldn’t fully shut off his brain. He had one ear open the entire time he lay there. His nights on the plane were usually extremely relaxed, because he could let his guard almost all the way down. This reminded him more of nights where he was sharing the watch with only one other person in a high risk area, where it was dangerous to fall into a deep sleep in case you didn’t wake in time.

He was almost relieved to hear a tiny tap on his door not thirty minutes after he’d gone to bed. He rolled over and saw Skye standing in the doorway wearing her Captain America pyjamas and clutching a pillow.

‘I had a bad dream,’ she whimpered. Her braids were all messed up and she looked very small.

Ward sighed. ‘Come on,’ he said, lifting up his arm. She tip-toed over to the bed and clambered in beside him, snuggling up against him with her pillow lying forgotten on the floor.

‘What was your dream about?’ Ward asked quietly, wondering if he’d be able to sleep now.

‘There was a man,’ Skye whispered. She sniffed, and Ward heard tears in her voice. ‘A man with a gun. And he … he hurt me.’

Ward froze. He tried very hard to relax his suddenly tense body, but it was hard when he could hear fear, pure and very grown up, in this tiny little girl’s voice. They were definitely starting to remember.

‘It was just a dream,’ he forced himself to say. ‘There’s no man, Skye. He’s gone. He’ll never be able to hurt you, ok?’

Ward felt her nod. ‘Kay,’ she whispered. ‘Will you protect me?’

Ward curled his arm around her, hugging her gently to him. ‘I’ll protect you,’ he promised.

‘Will you protect us too?’ came a tiny whisper from the door. Ward looked up and saw his two other little nerd children hovering uncertainly in the doorway, holding on to each other’s hands tightly, and felt a sudden rush of affection for them.

‘I can’t protect you when you’re all the way over there,’ he said gently, lifting up his other arm. The two rushed, delightedly, over to the bed, and clambered all over him for a minute or so, elbows and knees finding Ward’s groin and solar plexus every time without fail. But at last they were all settled.

Ward was aware that there was no one else on the plane. There was no one to stand guard over him and his kids, who were scattered around him like warm, heavy puppies. Ward thought he’d be awake all night. But he fell asleep almost before Fitz had stopped squirming.

* * *

 

The next morning found Ward refereeing a vicious game of Marco Polo before he’d even had his coffee. The kids were still in their pyjamas and Ward was exhausted, having been kicked awake during the night no fewer than five times that he could remember.

The kids were playing in the training area, yelling out Marco at the wrong times between bites of toast and sips of juice (Jemma had asked for coffee and Ward had firmly told her no. Ward needed the kids hopped up on caffeine about as much as he needed the plane to explode).

Coulson had rang quite early, but not so early that Ward wasn’t already up and trying to get the kids to eat more than a few bites of breakfast before running rings around him again. They had the guy, and the gun (Ward was alarmed to hear it was an actual gun) and they’d be on base in about four hours. That was less time than Ward thought he’d need to get the kids washed and dressed if he was being honest, but he himself was simply not going anywhere or doing anything that involving manhandling the kids into clothes before he’d had coffee.

Ward grinned at himself as he watched Jemma try to trip Fitz. He sounded like an old man. Was he getting old? Ward had been thinking about what they would do if they couldn’t catch the guy responsible, the only person who could change them back. He’d been considering ringing up HQ to see if they could get a tech guy in to create some holographic puzzles for the three kids, something to really test their brainpower and see how much was stored information, and how much they were simply gifted with at birth. Ward imagined the lights shining on their faces as they saw whatever this hypothetical tech guy or gal could come up with. Then he shook himself. These were his friends, his peers. They weren’t his children, no matter how stupidly attached he’d become. And they were positively draining him. Ward went back for a second cup of coffee.

He wasn’t sure if this experience was putting him off the idea of ever having kids or not - he hadn’t really expected to get to a point in his life where it would be sensible to have children - but it would definitely be a factor if and when that day ever arrived. If nothing else, he felt like he’d gained another life skill: survive an entire day with three five year olds who are probably smarter than you.

Coulson and May arrived earlier than expected, but thankfully Ward had all the kids more or less ready for them. Mindful of the imminent size difference, he’d dressed them all in the biggest clothes he could find of theirs, and got them to put their lab coats on over them.

‘Are we doin’ science again, Ward?’ asked Jemma.

‘Something like that, yeah,’ Ward said, trying not to sound worried. He’d been naively hoping that there would just be a pill they could swallow, or an injection of some sort. Something that the kids wouldn’t notice. It wouldn’t matter just a few moments later, probably, because they’d be adults again. But he didn’t want them to feel afraid at all, if he could help it, while their immature brains weren’t able to grasp that this was supposed to help them.

May and Coulson rolled up with a host of other agents hauling a flinching, stammering bald man with glasses and a sagging stomach. Not exactly the criminal mastermind Ward had been expecting, but then he’d seen them come in all shapes and sizes lately.

‘This is weird,’ Coulson said frankly, staring at the kids all lined up and nervous before the strange agents.

‘Tell me about it,’ agreed Ward. ‘Sir? The uh, gun?’

‘What about it?’

Ward shifted. ‘It won’t hurt them, will it?’

Coulson raised his eyebrows and looked over at the man currently calibrating something on a large, shiny device that looked far too like a gun. ‘I hope not,’ he replied, quietly. 

Ward nodded, unhappily. The three kids were huddled together, resisting the attempts of the agents to get them to line up spaced out from each other. Ward thought it best to intervene before things got messy.

‘Hold on,’ he snapped at the agent who was holding on to Skye’s arm. ‘Stop, you’re scaring her.’

The agent frowned but withdrew his hand quickly when he saw Ward’s expression.

‘What’s happening?’ Skye asked anxiously. FitzSimmons crowded in with worried expressions, each grabbing on to Ward’s sleeve before the agent could scoot them back into line.

‘What’s the hold up, Ward?’ May was asking.

Ward glanced over his shoulder. Coulson’s brow was furrowed, and he was looking between each of the children, but May seemed firm. ‘The sooner we get this over with…’ she reminded him, and her tone was almost gentle. Ward turned back to the kids.

‘You know all that research - all the science that you were doing?’ he asked them, and they all nodded. ‘Well, this man is going to help you test your theory with - that,’ he said, falteringly, as they all looked over to stare apprehensively at the nervous-looking man and his undeniably big gun.

‘That looks like a gun,’ Skye said nervously. ‘Is that a gun?’

Ward remembered Skye’s bad dreams. ‘It looks like a gun,’ he allowed. ‘But it’s not, not really. It’s like science … but it’s also going to do something kind of magical. It’s like a magic gun, ok?’ Ward could practically hear May rolling her eyes, but he persevered. ‘And while I’m here, nothing’s going to hurt you,’ he said firmly.

Surprisingly, Skye was nodding.

‘It’s a magic gun,’ she said, like it was obviously. ‘Because Ward’s a wizard. Remember?’

FitzSimmons were smiling too now at this information, and Ward didn’t have any idea how this made sense in their minds, but if his being a wizard was what got them to relax and face the “magic gun”, then he was down with it.

He stood back, telling them to spread out a little, and nodded to the agent.

‘Pretty good, Ward,’ May had to admit, when he stepped back to stand beside her and Coulson. ‘Who would have thought you’d be such a good babysitter?’

‘I’m a man of many talents,’ Ward said breezily. ‘It was nothing.’

The agents were lining their guy up now, and Ward did a last quick sweep of the kids and their body language. FitzSimmons were definitely more relaxed now, almost looking excited, like they wanted a closer look at this device that seemed to blend magic and science (their younger selves clearly had a much greater tolerance for suggestions of magic than their older selves did).

Skye, however, made him pause. She didn’t look excited or upset anymore, but she did look extremely apprehensive. She eyed the re-aging device much like the older Skye would if she was faced with a possibly dangerous weapon that was pointed right at her. She caught his eye, and Ward suddenly understood that Skye was much more aware of what was going on than he’d believed her to be. He almost moved forward to stop the whole thing then, but it was too late.

‘Ready, go,’ the agent said, and there was a bright flash as the guy squeezed the trigger three times dispelling three short, concentrated bursts of purple light that engulfed the children. A cold hand of fear gripped Ward’s heart, and in the silence that followed, he barely breathed.

Ward wasn’t the only one stressed out by the whole thing. Beside him, Coulson’s face was tight with concern. ‘We saw it work before,’ he said, voice low. ‘On a dog. A test subject. It worked fine.’ Ward didn’t like the sound of that.

He squinted towards the light, but there was still a bright, faintly purple halo of light were each child had been. Ward strained his eyes and ears, but it wasn’t until the light faded and there came the sound of adult-sounding coughs and groans of pain that they knew it had worked.

‘My bloody head,’ groaned Fitz.

‘What on earth happened?’ This from Jemma, sounding more annoyed than confused.

‘My clothes feel too tight,’ groaned Skye, and Ward let out a huge sigh of relief he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

‘See, Ward?’ May was smiling. ‘All that worrying for nothing.’ She too looked a little relieved, though.

‘I wasn’t worried,’ retorted Ward quickly, trying to swallow his feelings of immense relief.

She clapped him on the back. ‘Please,’ she said, amused. ‘You were practically clucking.’

Ward coloured, but was instantly distracted by his team members, crouched on the floor in their lab coats, rubbing their heads and eyes in confusion.

‘God, my head’s all fuzzy,’ Jemma said, wincing slightly as she applied pressure to different parts of her skull. ‘Where’s my eye-torch, we should check for pupil responses, Fitz - ?’

‘I should have one in my - ‘ Fitz went to pat down his pockets, and then realised that under his lab coat he was wearing football shorts and an Iron Man t-shirt that had to be more than several sizes too small. ‘I suddenly feel the need for an extended period of privacy,’ he muttered.

Ward and the others helped them to their feet. Almost automatically, the three former-children gathered around Ward.

‘How much do you remember?’ he asked them, as May took over checking their pupil responses and taking their temperatures, at Jemma’s insistence.

‘Not a lot,’ admitted Skye, as Jemma checked her pulse. ‘Colours, blurry images. We were younger, weren’t we?’

Ward nodded. ‘Five years old, by our guess,’ he said.

Skye raised her eyebrows. ‘Well that must have been embarrassing,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it’s not something we should ever talk about, right?’

Ward looked at her, remembering the fear in her voice when she’d recalled her nightmare, and her silent, watchful gaze as she beheld yet another gun pointed at her. He shook his head.

‘Nope. But you guys were fine. I totally had it under control.’

‘I do remember something about flowers,’ Fitz said, wrinkling his nose in a way that was endearingly familiar to Ward.

Jemma gasped. ‘My daisies!’ she cried, and ran out of the room, Fitz in pursuit looking very worried about his own experiments. Ward hoped he’d gotten rid of the worst of the mud and flower carnage.

‘Daisies, Ward?’ May asked, and Coulson raised his eyebrows.

‘I don’t know, it’s all a bit of a blur,’ replied Ward, deadpan.

Suddenly Jemma’s voice crackled over the plane’s PA system.

‘Would “Agent Grumpy Wizard” please report to the lab for a thorough explanation, please.’ Ward could hear Fitz cackling in the background.

‘Agent Grumpy Wizard?’ Coulson asked, incredulously. The other agents still in the room were sniggering behind their hands.

‘Your poker face sucks, Grant,’ May smirked as she passed him, for Ward, despite his mortification, was indeed smiling stupidly at Skye, who had the face of a woman who had suddenly remembered a glorious past life.

‘I hope I don’t remember anything more than that,’ she laughed, and Ward grinned, clapping her on the shoulder.

‘Don’t worry, kid,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plenty of pictures that should help jog your memory.’

* * *

 

Those pictures went down a storm. After May and Coulson had finished wiping away their tears of laughter, they managed to persuade the kids to let them print off a few of the pictures. ‘I want to start a family album,’ claimed Coulson, with almost a straight face.

So Ward provided them with the ones the kids liked best - the flower crowns, and one of them playing football, and one of them all lined up in their labcoats. The best one, though, was one that Skye pulled off the security cameras. She told him she hadn’t meant to review them, because seeing her younger self would be ‘way too weird of a trip,’ but she’d been going back through the log on an unrelated matter and accidentally paused on a particular frame that she couldn’t resist printing off.

Ward didn’t have many possessions that he kept on him at all times. He was migratory by nature and by profession, and never put down roots. But in his old leather wallet that he’d had since highschool there were a few pictures of his family, and now he added a folded up, slightly blue-tinted print out of himself and three small children crouched in the corner of a high-tech lap, all wearing lab coats and huddled around a big plastic red button. Skye had her hand pressed to it; the shot was caught at the exact moment of the boom. Ward had actually jumped. He shook his head, wryly. No one had to see that momentary weakness but him. And as it happened, he did end up looking at that photo quite a lot actually.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://coulsonsangels.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/coulsonsangels/) <3


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